


In Good Taste

by Nenalata



Category: Harvest Moon, Harvest Moon: Animal Parade, Story of Seasons: Trio of Towns
Genre: AU, Alcohol, Chef AU, Cooking, Crossover, F/M, Just a Lot of Food and Fluff, Not-Great Parental Relationships, People Interrupt Holly A Lot, Restaurants, Rivals to Lovers, Romance, Teenage Rebellion, coming a decade too late I suppose, what else do you expect with Chase
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 23:37:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13041903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nenalata/pseuds/Nenalata
Summary: “Top show, Holly! Even pro chefs have a tough time with legend class. You could have probably been successful as a full-time chef. Actually, it’s kind of a shame you didn’t become one.”"It's not so simple or easy a job that anyone could take it up on a whim and hope to succeed. What do you know of cooking? Running a kitchen? Have you any idea how to manage a business?"Holly has dreams of soufflé and meuniere, not Silkies and manure. The trio of towns is no place for her. She has bigger fish to fry on Castanet Island.





	In Good Taste

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go. Hope you like food, because I sure do.  
> I'm throwing this up here before I leave for an international trip with limited WiFi access, so let it be known that this is my new pet project! You might just have to wait a bit, but the next chapter'll be the better for it.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> god i love food

She was in the kitchen when Dad called a family meeting.

Holly was always in the kitchen whether Dad called family meetings or not, but that only meant that when he _did_ , she inevitably was interrupted. Each time, she’d set the pot to a simmer or set the oven timer to its maximum volume, and hope against hope Dad didn’t talk too long. This time, when Dad boomed, “Everyone in the family room!” Holly made sure to sit in the armchair with the clearest view of the stove.

Mom was on the couch next to Dad with her usual placid expression, and Lynn stomped in shortly after Holly had taken her seat, loudly complaining about how she’d been on the phone with her friend from school. Mom’s smile faltered a little at that, and in that gesture, Holly knew what the family meeting was about.

“We’re moving again?” Lynn cried once the announcement had been made.

“I admit it’s disappointing,” Dad said, “but we always settle into each town we’re fortunate to call home. I trust you’ll love our new life just as much as you did this one.”

“I have school, Dad! I have friends! I have a—I have my own life!”

“If they’re true friends, one location change won’t interrupt your affection for each other.”

Lynn squeaked in outrage, but Dad’s stern expression silenced any further argument. From her seat in the armchair, Holly could see steam rising from underneath the pot lid. She rose slightly in her seat, and Dad’s eyes snapped to her face.

“We’re not finished here, Holly.”

“My soup,” she began, but Dad’s glare only deepened. She sank into the cushions once again.

“You’ll have to put in a two-week notice, Holly. We’ll be moving in three weeks, and that should give you enough time to pack.”

Steam tickled the kitchen ceiling. Holly’s fingers twitched, gripping her knees.

“What about the rest of my summer?” Lynn whined.

“It will be spent helping your family.”

“Dad, my soup—”

“Holly, you can take ten minutes out of stuffing our fridge full of leftovers to listen to me.”

“It’s going to boil over,” Holly mumbled.

“Only if you keep interrupting me, and making this take longer than it has to.”

“Holly, just sit still for a moment,” Mom soothed.

“What else could possibly be said?” Lynn piped up again, voice thick with angry tears.

“I’m not coming with,” Holly said.

Finally, the family was silent. Even Lynn swiveled her head to stare.

“Is that so?” Dad asked without really asking.

“Yes.”

“You’re going to stay here? You’re going to buy the house from your mother and me?”

“No. The next time I move, I want it to be on my terms. I’m going to be a chef.”

She hadn’t thought the room could get quieter. It couldn’t, because Dad exploded.

“You must be joking. You must have had some daydream that you’re mistaking for reality. It's not so simple or easy as anyone could just pick up on a whim and hope to succeed. What do you actually know of cooking? Running a kitchen? Have you any idea how to manage a business? You know absolutely nothing about what that entails.”

“I’ve been waitressing since high school,” Holly argued, struggling to keep her voice level, calm, quiet. “I took plenty of business classes. I’ve been sous chef at this job for the last year, and—”

“So some waitressing and school business sense will get you through the sweat and tears of the restaurant industry?” There was a vein just above Dad’s left eye that always throbbed when he got this angry. Holly stared at it in repulsed fascination. “You don’t have the discipline for this, ignorance notwithstanding.”

“Why do you want to do this, darling?” Mom interrupted Dad’s tirade as only she could. Fuming next to her, Dad refused to look at his daughters. “When did you decide this?”

“I’ve always wanted this. You know that.”

“When, Holly?”

Holly kept her lips tightly sealed. Saying “right this instant” wouldn’t help her case.

Mom turned to Dad, clasping her hands together on her lap. “Dear, perhaps I could talk to Colleen.”

Dad’s face was like a statue. “Family meeting over. For now.” Holly leapt from her armchair and scurried to the kitchen before she could hear her mother’s sigh.

Sure enough, the soup had boiled over. Holly scrubbed mushroom goop from the pot and stovetop and tried not to let any tears fall. Dad rarely got this heated, even during her adolescent arguments with him. But no matter what, she’d make this happen.

She didn’t have to live with her family forever.

* * *

 

“Holly?” Mom always tapped lightly on her door, like she was afraid to come in. Holly had been a fright of a teenager, to be sure, but she liked to think she’d mellowed in the years since. Apparently, Mom did not. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

Mom slipped into the room and closed the door behind her with another gentle movement. She sat on the bed where Holly was sprawled, reading her current favorite book. Non-fiction, on the history of the spice trade.

“Is this what you really want?”

She nodded. “I’ve been wanting this a long time, Mom. I’ve talked to the head chef about this before, and—”

“I believe you.” Mom took a deep breath. “I know you’re responsible. Your father does, too. He’s just concerned about you.”

Holly chose not to comment.

“But all of us know you have to grow up sometime. And while this is a big leap to independence, we all trust that you can succeed.”

“I don’t really need a vote of confidence, Mom,” Holly replied, putting her book down on the quilt. “I’m doing this—”

“I just wanted to offer you some help,” Mom smiled, quieting Holly’s indignant protests. “I know you can do so much on your own. You’re strong, which is why you and your father butt heads all the time. You’re both strong-willed. But there’s no shame in getting a little help.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she said cautiously.

“I wrote to my friend in a town a little ways off from where we’re moving,” Mom continued. “She runs a bed and breakfast there, says there’s a small cottage for let by her inn.”

Holly sat up, maybe a little too quickly.

Mom pulled the sheaf of papers Holly hadn’t realized she was holding off her lap and handed them to her daughter, patting Holly’s hand as she rose. “Take a look, won’t you?”

By the time the door clicked shut, Holly’s eyes were greedily absorbing what Mom had left her, fingers turning over terms of lease and maps of Harmonica Town.  

* * *

 

“Man, you’re taking a horse and wagon to move?” Lynn’s eyes nearly fell out of her head when the cart pulled up. “Yeesh, I know you’re old-school rebellious, sis, but…”

“I think it’s charming,” Mom said with a smile from the moving truck. Dad, signing off forms with the head mover, didn’t look up. Holly dragged her two rolling suitcases over to the cart as its driver hopped to the ground. He was a broad-shouldered middle-aged man, judging by the streaks of silver in his close-cropped brown hair.

“You must be Holly,” he greeted her, gesturing to the suitcases.

“Yeah.”

He stuck out his hand and she shook it, her small hand completely obscured and crushed by his callused one. A farmer’s hand. “I’m Cain. I own Horn Ranch just outside of Harmonica Town. You’re moving downtown proper, aint’cha?”

Holly nodded. “My mother’s friend Colleen is my new landlady,” she explained. “She offered me a—”

“That little house just by the ocean, right? Nice townhome, that one,” Cain laughed, though Holly didn’t know what was funny. She hoped he wasn’t being sarcastic.

Cain grabbed one of the suitcases, lifted it into the cart with surprising gentleness, then followed  with the next. Hands on his hips, he observed his successful lifting with a deep sigh, then turned and grinned at Holly once again. “You all set?”

“Let me just say goodbye to my family, and then we can be off,” Holly said. Lynn was already turning towards her with arms outstretched.

“You’re not living a thousand million leagues under the sea,” Lynn said mid-hug. “If you ever need a pick-me-up, don’t even think I won’t run straight over to wherever you’re going to and knock some joy into your life.”

“I hope you don’t _run_ , Lynn. You barely passed gym class at school.”

“Well, maybe I’ll take a horse-and-buggy, too.”

Mom ensconced her in a warm hug, pressing a kiss against her forehead as Holly disentangled herself. “I know you’ll make us proud.”

Even Dad came in for a quick hug, though of course he had to ruin it by saying, “I’ll be keeping an eye on your progress, Holly. I’m not as far as you think.”

And with that vague threat in mind as she tried to relax in the cart, Holly’s family disappeared behind her.

The trip was probably longer than she thought, but in between Cain’s easy rumbling conversation and the rocking of the wooden cart, she must have fallen asleep. The sound of wheels clacking against stone woke her.

“Oh, you’re up,” Cain chuckled from the driver’s seat. “Sorry you missed the scenic ride through Flute Fields. Welcome to Harmonica Town anyway.”

It was a colorful hamlet, pastel shaded shops and brightly painted homes stacked on top of each other like a child’s building blocks. It certainly wasn’t the bustling “downtown” Cain had made it out to be, but it was lively enough, with villagers in the distance waving to Cain as he crossed the bridge. They stopped in front of an orange-brown building closest to street level, and Cain helped her down with a gentlemanliness that was unfamiliar to her.

“Uh, thanks,” she said, clattering awkwardly down the cart, his hand gripping hers making descending more difficult than it had to be. A redheaded man in an industrial apron who might have been her age made his way to the orange-brown building, but with his hand on the door, he looked over his shoulder at the two of them and snickered as if he couldn’t help it. He and Holly locked eyes, and she lifted an eyebrow. She hoped she looked cool, threatening, unaffected, but with her hand still in Cain’s and her shoes scuffed from where she stubbed her toe, she doubted it. The man headed into the building without another glance.

Cain insisted on carrying her suitcases up the stairs for her. There were many of those, and Holly wondered how hard her drunken self might find it to make her way up the stairs after an evening spent at whatever passed for this tiny town’s nightlife.

The key to the turquoise door was under the mat. “Trusting town,” Holly remarked, dangling the key between her fingers, but Cain looked almost offended.

“Naturally it is,” he replied. “You won’t find a kinder set of neighbors. You all set, Miss Holly?”

His politeness was a little unsettling, but Holly forced what she hoped was a “neighborly” smile onto her face. “Absolutely. Thanks for everything, Cain.”

He refused her smiling offer of payment, looking borderline insulted again, and then he was gone. So much for neighborly.

But inside, this place was entirely hers. The air was salty thanks to an open window. Clean sea air. In her home. All hers.

Weathered floorboards were half-heartedly covered by a bright green if threadbare rug. A frying pan gleamed in the small kitchenette in the corner, a thoughtful gesture, even if one of her suitcases was entirely full of cooking utensils. The bed, stripped of linens, sat on a sturdy-looking wooden headboard, and Holly was certain once her own sheets and quilts made it up, it would look a lot more welcoming. A bistro table with two high stools sat oddly in the middle of the room, and except for a door leading to what she presumed was the bathroom, that was it.

It was hers.

It was her home.

Excited beyond reason, Holly tore into her suitcase, the one not filled with cooking supplies. There, nestled in between her birthday quilt and her favorite red dress for protection, was her diploma.

Fifteen minutes later, it hung proudly in its frame above the kitchen counter bearing her name and _Culinary Arts_ degree. It looked like it belonged there, at home there. Just like Holly now felt at home here in Harmonica Town.

* * *

 

It occurred to Holly that evening that it would be the polite and appropriate thing to do to introduce herself to her mother’s friend. Sitting on the floor with her possessions scattered around her, this idea struck her mid-stretch. It would be good to shake the blood back into her legs, anyway.

Finding the inn was not difficult, given its location right next to Holly’s new home and the handy sign marking it as such on the door. She pushed her way inside, startled by the loud bell jangling upon her entrance.

“Holly, that must be you.” She started again at the sound of an unfamiliar voice saying her name. A pretty woman in a green dress looking around her mother’s age smiled at her from the concierge desk.

“Colleen?” Holly ventured, and breathed an embarrassingly audible sigh of relief when Colleen nodded. “I’m so happy to meet you. You’ve been a really good friend to my mother, and me, when you don’t even know—”

“Oh, hush,” Colleen interrupted, sounding uncannily like Mom. “Marlena’s done us kindnesses before. It’s about time I return the favor. And it’s more of a kindness to us, having that old cottage lived in at long last.” Her eyes twinkled. “Are you settling in well?”

“Yeah, thanks,”  Holly said, walking up to the desk to shake hands. “It’s a cozy place, and I love that it overlooks the ocean.”

“I hope the smell of fish doesn’t bother you,” Colleen laughed. Even her laugh was pretty. Holly shook her head.

“I love the smell of anything edible. But I just arrived today, so maybe that’ll change.”

“Oh, speaking of. Have you spoken with Yolanda yet? My mother-in-law?” When Holly shook her head again, Colleen clasped her hands together in worry. “Oh, goodness. We have to get you a job, don’t we? Let me go find my mother-in-law.”

Without another word, Colleen glided into the back room, and she was gone. Holly leaned against the concierge desk. Colleen did not return. She crossed her legs, trying to look more nonchalant. Still, she was alone. Holly was contorting herself into unnaturally casual positions when a girl in a waitress’s outfit bounded down the inn stairs.

“Hiya!” the young woman squeaked. Holly folded her limbs back to her sides and tried to look less awkward. “Are you Holly?”

“Yep, that’s me,” Holly said, laughing a nervous sort of laugh. She hoped she could manage better first impressions than being awkward or confused or startled, but so far, it didn’t seem to be happening.

“I’m Maya. You moved in next door, right? That’s so great! My parents have been having trouble finding someone to rent it to, but I guess with life returning to normal here, people are more interested in moving here. Oh!” Maya clapped her hands over her mouth and stood on her tiptoes, like some sort of cartoon character. Holly liked her already. “I’m talking too much. Do you like it here?”

“Well, I just moved in a few hours ago,” Holly answered, “but so far, everyone’s been really nice. Day’s still young, though.”

“So this is the young chef?” Another voice joined them. An old lady was standing next to Colleen, who had taken the opportunity to return silently from the back room. Holly covered her mouth Maya-style. “How long have you been cooking, Holly?”

“Well, on my own, since I was maybe five years old,” Holly began. The old woman shook her head.

“Professionally.”

“About six years,” Holly answered. “I got a degree in culinary arts from—”

“Colleen,” the old woman said, turning to her daughter-in-law, “I wish I had more use for her, I really do. But I’d have to wait and see how the tourism fares this summer. I know the rancher has been doing his part to liven up this place, but…”

Colleen nodded. “We’ll see how it goes here. But until then, is there anything for her?”

The old woman nodded and turned to face Holly again. “Are you free weekends?”

Baffled, Holly replied, “Of course.” The old woman frowned and hmmed.

“Let’s start Saturday afternoons. You can learn the ropes from me. I think Hayden’s been busier than us, though.”

“He is,” Maya piped up. When Colleen raised her eyebrows, she quickly apologized, “Sorry, Mom. But the bar’s been crowded every night. I bet Chase could use some help! I offered, but he just laughed. It was pretty rude.”

“Then why don’t you head downstairs, Holly?” the old woman said in a kinder voice. “Right below us is the Brass Bar. Hayden’s the gentleman with the bushiest beard you’ll ever see. Ask him if he needs any help. Tell him Yolanda sent you.”

“Okay, Yolanda,” Holly guessed, and the old woman grinned. She was missing a tooth in that old-person way, and for some reason, it made her earlier abruptness seem endearing. “Nice meeting you all. Bye, Maya.”

“See you Saturday!”

The women waved with varying degrees of cheer, and Holly left, the bell jangling again behind her. Outside, the air nipped her sleeves with that evening spring chill, but she took a second to herself to breathe in the fresh sea breeze and take in the stone roads, the blue ocean, the colorful buildings glowing in the streetlamp light.

_“I’m not as far as you think.”_

She glowered and stomped her way down to the Brass Bar.

Warm and bustling inside, the Brass Bar lived up to its name. Brass handrails, brass instruments behind the dancer onstage, and brass barstools glinted in the dimmed bar light. The atmosphere was cozy without the claustrophobia that Holly found often accompanied small-town pubs, like the ones she used to frequent with her coworkers in the towns her father had moved them around to.

True to Yolanda’s description, Hayden, wiping the bar counter, had the bushiest beard Holly felt she’d ever see in her life. He raised an equally bushy brow at her when she approached.

“You must be the new girl. Heard about you,” he said.

“Hi, Hayden,” she said, throwing on her most winning smile. It hadn’t succeeded yet, but someday, it would. “I’m Holly. Yolanda sent me to ask about a job here.”

Hayden didn’t stop wiping the counter. It gleamed. “We got a dancer, a waitress, and a cook. Not sure which job you mean.”

The winning smile twitched at the corners. Time to name-drop. “Maya seemed to think Chase needed some help in the kitchen.”

“I don’t,” a man’s voice called from somewhere unseen. Hayden shoved the cloth in his pocket.

“Don’t listen to him. He does. Folk pour in ‘most every night since Kasey got things all sorted out here. We can hardly keep up with drinks, much less bar food. You think you can handle that sort of work life?”

“I’ve been a sous chef for the last year at Pierre’s,” Holly replied, excited to flaunt her credentials. “If that’s not a busy work environment, I don’t know what is.”

Hayden whistled. “That’s a fancy chain.”

“It’s not very fancy here,” the same man’s voice said, closer now. Holly peered behind Hayden’s massive shoulders to see the redhead from earlier in the day wiping his hands on a dishtowel. He gazed at her, face unreadable. “You sure you won’t be bored?”

Holly bristled at his rudeness. The door opened, and a crowd of bargoers poured in, laughing and chattering.

“All right, showtime,” Hayden said under his breath. “You’re hired--Holly, right? You can start out by being Chase’s sous chef. Starting now. Chase, show her around the kitchen in the next five minutes.”

Holly grabbed the apron Hayden tossed her and was heading around the bar when Chase complained, “I don’t need a wannabe chef underfoot on a Friday night.”

“Chase, that’s harsh. You’re being too rude.”

“Sorry,” Chase said to her when she made her way into the kitchen, tying the apron string around her neck.

“You don’t sound very sorry.”

He didn’t reply, but the silence was chilly. He showed her where baking sheets could be found (on the bottom shelf of the wire rack), where utensils were (hanging above the fridge), and where the dishes sat (under the serving window just to the right of the stove) in relative monosyllabic direction before Hayden called, “Order up!”

Chase did not tell her that Owen liked his mushroom soup with a dash of oregano for some ungodly reason; Holly found that out when the burly guy sent it back, and Chase sighed and muttered “Owen…” under his breath with a quick accusatory look at Holly.

Chase did not tell her where the sugar was, when Hayden couldn’t find it in time to put on the rim of a flamboyant man’s cranberry cocktail. Holly blanked, setting the squid tomato stew to simmer while groping around in blind search of the sugar. Chase flicked the heat back on and impatiently handed her a small sugar bowl, materialized from who-knew-where. “That’s gotta cook faster, Julius’s needs be damned,” he said to her in a hushed whisper.

Chase did not tell her she’d done a good job stir frying the veggies, which she had, because no one had ordered it. But he did toss a carrot in his mouth when she was turning back to remove the wok, and smiled very slightly after he swallowed it, lips quirking in a way that somehow didn’t look like he was about to say something biting. Even in his impatience, she felt they had a sort of camaraderie, them against the bargoers, but to refuse to comment on her cooking...

“I don’t need to prove myself to you,” she blurted without thinking harder about it, but she resisted the urge to take the words back. He wiped his carrot-stealing fingers on the dishtowel he’d kept in his apron the entire night and nodded as if she’d said nothing out of place.

“You’re right. It’s the customers you’ll need to prove yourself to.”

Hayden chose that moment to enter the kitchen, sighing a rumbly sigh through his beard. “That’s a wrap for tonight. Chase,” Chase rolled his shoulders, “how’d she do?”

“All right,” Chase shrugged again, not looking at her. “I’m gonna go home.”

He slid past Hayden, who let him by. A stinging sort of lump began to grow in Holly’s throat.

“That’s high praise coming from him,” Hayden remarked when the door clicked shut. Holly jerked to attention. “Chase can be a real asshole, Holly. Don’t take it to heart, but give him hell when you can. How you feeling about evening shifts?”

Holly left the Brass Bar with coins and bills jingling around in her pockets, a shift schedule in her mind, and surprised tears threatening to flood forth. She always cried easily, whether her father was infuriating her, or whether a busy flood of customers had finally petered out. Now, it was gratitude, or something positive that she couldn’t quite place. As much as she truly felt she didn’t need to prove herself, there was a certain part of her she couldn’t quite shake that wanted to believe she’d done something good on her own terms.

And yes, Mom had written to her friend, and the friend had helped her network to get the job, but it didn’t change the fact that Holly was here now. Paying her own rent. Working her own job. Making her own connections.

The diploma above the kitchen wall shone in the moonlight when an exhausted Holly made it home, and the sight of it brought new warmth into her heart. She collapsed on the bed as soon as she could wiggle into her pajamas, snuggling into dreams of ocean air and stir-fried carrots.


End file.
